Snowblind

Neon twilight falls,
sudden and tender.
The wind hunts litter
down a street of open-mouthed shops
as footsteps pound the city`s heart.

Useless clouds of speech
gather at street corners.
Figures, bright in glass,
sip thimbles of coffee
Somewhere, a busker sings
about love and his indifference.

Light multiplies and conjures darkness.
While the Clyde glitters
like a secret,
the way it never looks
in poems or cold mornings.

Through whisky fumes
your memory whispers
"A poem is a naked wound".

Words I should have said whirl
in the snowflakes around me.